The Valley
by Ember Nickel
Summary: Tobias, Ax, and leavetakings. For ThemeMorphs September 2014. Post-canon. May or may not be canon compliant; I don't even know anymore.


The short note of this story was that it was written this month right here, September 2014, for TobiasTime theme month on ThemeMorphs. The slightly-longer note is that it was also written for Tumblr user alliecat-person, who wanted Tobias+Ax fic!

Here's the long note.

For the October 2013 month on ThemeMorphs, almost a year ago, I wrote a fluffy Ax+Tobias fic, "Snakes and Locusts" This was a sequel to the piece I'd just written about Tobias, "Time and Again." That one was an obvious AU, due to being postwar Tobias/Rachel, and...yeah, it was an obvious AU. So, even sans Rachel, "Snakes and Locusts" was equally AU in my mind, if nothing else due to "Tobias and Ax are both around and well and the whole The One plotline isn't a thing to preclude that."

But. alliecat-person's Tumblr post said that she'd gotten to meet Applegate, who mentioned that she imagined Ax (and all the others!) surviving. Which, 1) best news ever ever, and 2) suddenly made "Snakes and Locusts" canon-compliant! I still felt the need to write more for Tobias month, though, presumably canon-compliant and based on this news. So, having seen a couple more short fics (mine and others) flying around with similar premises, I came up with this one, "The Valley." Not incredibly original, but it's what I was able to knock out as the month drew on.

This is, of course, an immediate prequel to "Snakes and Locusts" But here's the kicker. _I'd forgotten I'd written "Snakes and Locusts" during the course of this one. _In fact, depending on the need for total consistency, they technically don't match up in every detail, but they're _so_ much the same story I'm keeping things just as they are. That one could go in either the Rachel-lives AU ("One Big Galaxy") or, apparently...canon with this. (Thanks again, alliecat-person!)

Anyway, we're back around to Ax month I think, so maybe I'll write a longer sequel/prequel/whateverquel soon, but no promises.

* * *

><p>"We were having an argument,"<p>

He half-expected he wouldn't be able to find his way back. Either it wouldn't be there at all—what would be the point?—or he'd have forgotten, once-keen eyesight faded after so many years and so many planets in between. But it was still there, a forgotten bubble where the cosmos had been folded in on itself, pinched by an invisible hand.

The Hork-Bajir had found homes of their own, far beyond the valley. If the new reserves were less idyllic, they were more real, more representative of Earth—of the new Earth, a home for more species than expected. In a few months, another cohort was departing for the resettlements on their home planet. The launch of the colony ships was still an occasion for minor fanfare, nothing unprecedented but still news, good news, even. Certainly, a contrast to the comings and goings of earthbound celebrities—or the departure of those personas who kept their flight plans shrouded in the brightness of Z-Space.

‹Are you all right?›

‹Being here? Sure. I—it's still Jara and Ket's home for me, and Toby's. That hasn't changed.›

That much was true. Those final weeks, at the end of the war—he could never escape them, but they could not destroy his memories of the valley. He'd spent enough years where home had been a pretense, that a few more battles meant nothing.

And Loren had been there. It hadn't been easy, learning how to be part of _her_ family—it still wasn't—but it had been the place where they'd started. That counted for something, too.

‹Then I'm ready.›

‹Go ahead.›

How many beings had watched a process like Ax's morph, knowing they were not able to do the same? There must have been some fraction of warriors whose bodies rejected the morphing technology, watching their comrades prepare for an espionage mission. And how many spectators took in the morph-dancers' performance on the homeworld? He could find out soon, Tobias reminded himself. Even if he wasn't interested in watching _estreens_ metamorphose for the pleasure of it. There would be no end of amusements he could be dragged to—Ax had promised to teach him driftball, mostly on principle. And Forlay, over the telecoms, said she wanted "an original copy of your human paper arts." Drawings. Simple pencil-and-paper drawings—any human's would have made an impression on the Andalite homeworld, really, but his most of all.

First, though, there was Ax. His tail retracted, and his body shimmered as two, four, six pairs of wings sprouted into life. His stalk eyes gave way, and the features of the _kafit_ bird grew instead. There were its eyes, and there, its fatal beak.

The morph complete, Ax hovered off the ground—then darted towards an enormous tree, tilting sharply to rise up and bite at a bug. He missed, pivoted, and dove for it again, spinning and jabbing his beak as he swirled through the air.

‹Easy. Easy!› Tobias called. ‹It's just a morph.›

‹I need to—to—› Ax broke off, steadying his wings but still probing with his beak. ‹I...pardon me. The instincts...›

‹It's fine.›

‹These...mouths...›

Of course. Ax had, miraculously, survived his ordeal as a captive of The One—many of the other victims had not been as lucky, and others survived, but were scarred by the grotesque mutilations that their unification had inflicted. Morphing technology had, somehow, let Ax more or less restore his Andalite body, and while he'd made a complete physical recovery, he was more subdued about his eating instincts every time he'd morphed human since. ‹Are you okay?›

‹I can fly.›

‹Then let's go.›

En route to the valley, flight had been a means of transportation. There, one last time, it was an end in itself. Outside the world of changing winds, one might have thought there would be no weather—but the Hork-Bajir had needed to adapt to all seasons, and there was enough of a breeze that the thermals could still form. The _kafit_ bird, unused to terran snacks hurtling through the air, took its time, giving each pair of wings a chance to make its way as it soared along, towards the trees. Next to it, the hawk's body continued to drift. The valley looked insubstantial from above; his eyes had grown as tired as his wings, but the thermals would still carry him.

They flew in silence. There had been plenty to say, beforehand, and would be plenty more once the next journey began, but there was nothing else his ears needed to pick up on, either. He had never thought to ask Ax whether Andalites' range of thought-speak deteriorated with age. The answer didn't matter anymore.

But all too soon, Ax had steadied himself. ‹I...›

‹You need to demorph?›

‹Yes.›

‹Go ahead. Um.›

‹Yes?›

‹Can I ask you something? Like, a personal question, you don't have to answer.›

Ax sent a burst of what passed for laughter in reply. ‹You're my _shorm_.›

‹Well, go ahead and demorph, if you need to.›

Ax landed lightly on the ground, resuming his Andalite form. The beak vanished first; then his legs were shaping up, and he pawed at the grass as if hungry. His tail took some time to grow back, and scaled-up, enormous wings beat briefly against the air before they too retreated.

‹How...like...after everything you've _been_ through. How can you still _do_ that?›

‹The morphing power is extremely resilient, you know perfectly well what devastating circumstances people can morph out of.›

‹Oh, not _that_.› _That_ was a technology, a commonplace tool, it would soon belong to plenty of others. ‹I mean, the thing with the clocks. Timing things in terms of our Earth hours. Down to the _minute_. How do you do it?!›

‹Oh?› Ax's eyes twinkled. ‹Not every Andalite can. We all have our own talents—quirks of the brain, easy tricks. This happens to be mine.›

‹Could Elfangor do it?›

‹This? I don't think so. I'm sure he had his own gift. Maybe one that didn't turn out to be as useful, in the war.›

‹You don't know.›

‹I'm sorry, no. But my parents, they might remember.›

‹All right.› And Tobias found himself wanting to reply with a smile of his own.

That last flight had been for him and his _shorm_, but how many others had come before? Countless as part of the war, a means to an end. Alongside his friends and comrades, not just Rachel, but all of them. The first, to take to the air, had been his alone.

But Ax was there, somehow, still. The world was changing.

‹Okay, then,› he said, and started to morph.

He had almost wanted to become an Andalite. Perhaps even a _Frolis_ maneuver would have sufficed—plenty of fit and healthy Andalites would have jumped at the chance, and if his DNA was to be a hodgepodge of aliens, it was in some sense no stranger than the way his human body had taken shape. But that didn't feel right. He could have taken on Ax's shape, and his uncle would have welcomed it—what greater trust could a _shorm_ place, than offering one's _own_ tailblade? But that was not the future they'd fought for, a world where he would carry a weapon behind him everywhere. He had gotten used to weapons in front and below, but there was no more room to be a predator.

His sight _still_ felt weaker than usual, turning human. The world was no sharper, the paths ahead no clearer, and no more of a signal through the background noise. There would be no sign he was making the right choice. No more than any human could ask for.

Seconds passed by, minutes, and he was already flinching. There was the sky, so much—no, more than there should have been, the valley should not have been possible, and he needed to—do do what? Were there instincts to shake off? Morphing even a sentient species should have brought its own physicality. Andalites had their optimism, humans had—what? It was a morph, wasn't it? Not his natural form? "Ax," he was stammering, "Ax—"

And Ax snapped to attention, embracing him as he trembled. ‹I'm here,› he said, ‹I'm here.› There was nothing to say, but his touch sung, _You crossed the universe to rescue me from a broken body. This is the least, the _least_ I can do._

"Talk to me," Tobias stammered. "Tell me about—about the homeworld. Something. I don't..."

‹I understand.› Just a distraction. ‹The Electorate is convening again, I think. I expect that in light of the latest settlement, they're going to repeal the _nth_ round of population controls. At the very least, make the enforcement more equitable across military and civilian populations, the previous round had been too corrupt to ever be considered. Not that the Kelbrid ever mounted a threat to the stability of the homeworld population, of course!› And there was that arrogance, the stiff pride in his species and also himself, after what they'd both survived. ‹By the time we get home—well, my home, your...›

"Just keep talking."

‹The _therant_ trees will be in their _creast_ phase. My _Garibah_ should be particularly beautiful, that time of year. Of course, the scoop gets more visitors now. But we'll have privacy.›

"I still don't see how we're going to get to the ship, without drawing attention."

‹You forget I'm a prince. I can pull rank, when I need to.›

"Of course, Prince Aximili."

‹Don't call me that. As for the Leeran diplomats, they've been having trouble acclimatizing, it's hard to terraform the water enough to communicate effectively.›

"_Terra_form?"

‹You know what I mean. The infrastructure should be substantially improved by the time we get there, though. Assuming the Skrit Na subcontractors haven't managed to delay the proceedings. It's a fundamental constant of the universe, I think. Gravitation, electromagnetism, Z-Space topology, and Skrit Na abductions. Yeerks come and go, the Kelbrid make their peace and retreat, and you _still_ can't get them to deliver raw materials on time.›

"Well, we shouldn't be coercing anyone. Did you just make a joke?"

‹I am learning. The archivists have been experimenting with new formats to transmit and record _hirac delests._ A lot of the military records have been censored, but the reformists on the Council are hoping to push some freedom of information acts through. A whole lot more should be publically accessible, after that. Even the more recent Kelbrid skrimishes might come to light—I'm sure they'll be curious as to your perspective, all of ours, but there'll be time for that, later...›

And on, and on, until the point where Ax hesitated before Tobias' stare. ‹I would think even human eyes would be effective at this range.›

"I was watching you."

‹Yes?›

"You can still—do—the clock thing. I thought you'd give it away, in your expression, when it happened. But I don't know if I can read Andalites."

‹Oh. That was thirteen minutes ago.›

He thought he would cry, but no tears came, at least not at first. Ax was still there, the meaningless messages of the past hours still echoing through his mind, and for the moment, it was enough. "Thank you," he finally offered.

‹Of course you are welcome.›

"Do you—want to stay? Or should we get going?"

‹Take as long as you need.›

"I just thought, you know. Once. That we'd...we should get moving pretty quickly, it's a long walk, back."

‹I think you'll find you get used to it.›

"You sure people won't mob us?"

‹I told you, we have resources. And it's not like you've never hidden before, there's plenty you're capable of. Even without morphing.›

His body felt so young—from before the construction site, before anything. For a human, it was still full of potential, even hope. "If you say so."

‹Of course.›

Ax took his hand, and Tobias began the trek forward, down from the valley. One step, another. Minutes gave way to hours, and they began to tire, but not so much so that they paused. Then, behind them, the valley was gone, as if it had never been there.


End file.
